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<title>And A Dollar For The Bus Back Home by Glaisne</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638374">And A Dollar For The Bus Back Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaisne/pseuds/Glaisne'>Glaisne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaisne/pseuds/Glaisne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically I listened to Cupid by Jack Stauber while thinking about Alec Vasil and you should too. Just a drabble about a bus ride from Montreal to Brockton Bay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And A Dollar For The Bus Back Home</h2></a>
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    <p>His hand was shaking around the bus pole. He clenched his fist tighter. Tremors all along his fingers. Rain hit the bus windows, the sound barely audible over the blasting of his headphones. </p>
<p>	~La La La La La La~</p>
<p>	His ears were ringing. His hand, wrapped tight around a fork. The triplet prongs piercing his eye with a scream. Again. Again. Again. Bile rose in his throat. He swayed. The strap of his duffel bag dug into his shoulder.</p>
<p>	~Oh circumcise my love for you~<br/>
~It’s far too vapid and aimless~</p>
<p>	He wished he was nine again. He remembered how warm it had been, to look up at his father and feel love. He’d been like a god, shining in gold. The love had been endless and eternal, never ending. Even when it hurt. Even when he was so afraid he couldn’t breathe. The love had been worship.</p>
<p>	~I wanna be painless~</p>
<p>	It was gone, now. Now, he was numb.  </p>
<p>	Everything had been so easy. At the base of everything, it had only been about loving him. And that had been so easy. Never even a choice. His fingers flexed as he remembered pulling the trigger. The spattering of the man’s brains over the concrete.</p>
<p>	~love soldier~</p>
<p>	He clenched his teeth against the sound of the gunshot.</p>
<p>	~I want closure~</p>
<p>	And what did it matter? What did it matter if thinking of loving him was like dying now? It had been better, then. It had been better. It had been better than this nothing.<br/>

He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the pole.<br/>

He wondered if the numbness was forever. </p>
<p>	~And a dollar for the bus back home~</p>
<p>	The doors hissed open. He glanced up, readjusting the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. The orange letters scrolled across the front screen of the bus.<br/>

BROCKTON BAY</p>
<p>	He stepped out onto the sidewalk.</p>
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